She stood dejected then, methought, A Captive, though a Queen, Before the throng, when sudden passed A change across her mien. Unto her full, dilating eye, Unto her slender hand, There came a light of sovereignty, A gesture of command: And, to her lip, an eager flow Of song, that seemed to bear Her soul away on rushing wings Unto its native air; Her eye was fixed; her cheek flushed bright With power; she seemed to call On spirits that around her flocked, The radiant Queen of all; There was no pride upon her brow, No tumult in her breast; Her soaring soul had won its home, And smiled there as at rest; She felt no more those countless eyes Upon her; she had gained A region where they troubled not The joy she had attained! Now, now, she spoke her native speech, An utterance fraught with spells To wake the echoes of the heart Within their slumber-cells; For at her wild and gushing strain, The spirit was led back By windings of a silver chain, On many a long-lost track; And many a quick unbidden sigh, And starting tear, revealed How surely at her touch the springs Of feeling were unsealed; They who were always loved, seemed now Yet more than ever dear; Yet closer to the heart they came, That ever were so near: And, trembling to the silent lips, As if they ne’er had changed Their names, returned in kindness back The severed and estranged; And in the strain, like those that fall On wanderers as they roam, The Exiled Spirit found once more Its country and its home!